


Inclusion

by Shahnaz



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shahnaz/pseuds/Shahnaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one can't sleep, one tends to get very introspective, especially when a person had a life as complicated as Judal's, especially when it involves the man sleeping next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inclusion

The man next to him was no savior, no messiah, and no hero, Judal thought as he brushed a lock of hair from his neck, leaning in to take in the scent of him, burying his nose into the crook of his neck, feeling the man stir - he was so sensitive there that it was almost criminal. 

The sea – there’s always that scent of the clean tropical sea on him, even when he was a week’s travel from an ocean and away long enough that the scent should’ve washed off from all his possessions. It used to be that his nostrils would be greeted by a confusing riot of flowers, fruits, and musks whenever the idiot was around, but since they started sharing a bed, there was a different smell to him besides that sea-scent, a warm dry perfume of spices – nutmeg, cassia, sandalwood, and the lingering sweet touch of rum on his breath. The Magi wondered if it was his cologne, no longer being masked by the perfumes of those women that pawed at him whenever he would walk in public – but he liked it, it felt inviting, welcoming – like he’s being cradled by the vast sea under the protective boughs of exotic trees. It’s not a scent he knew of until recently, but it had that comforting air that the word ‘home’ should conjure it up, yes – the idiot smelled like home. 

His red eyes slid half-closed, watching as the king’s Rukh white and black flitted around – the pink-tinged white course settled upon his arms like an old friend, while the black flutters close before being forced back, almost sadly singing at the formerly fallen Magi. Judal wasn’t sure what the hell that Djinn did to him out in the stars, but ever since he came back, the stain of despair was washed from his rukh. He’s not used to the feeling of not having his heart twist in his chest so severely that he would go numb or being able to dissipate his anger instead of having no choice but to lash out. Sinbad wasn’t like the Balbadd prince, he was bright and radiant yes – but while Alibaba was a scorching midday sun, almost painful to look at and had a certain way of driving him crazy like a midsummer heat wave, the king’s light was cooler - dappled with shadow like being under the shade of a peach tree. 

The brighter the light – the darker the shadow – A voice whispered in the back of his head as Sinbad murmurs under him. Compassionate, hopeful, passionate, grief-stricken, ambitious, manipulative, pacifistic, brave, opportunistic - he protects all those he cares for but those people in turn end up becoming so dependent on him that they may quite literally die without him. A man that loves his country, but drinks himself to oblivion to escape the chain that everyone else calls a crown. Not one aspect is false, not one is truly him, but they’re just all facets of a brilliant, but flawed diamond.

He knew he was being used because he’s a Magi, but he’s using Sinbad as well – there was no place in the world where he was safe anymore except Sindria. That boy in Reim wouldn’t even let him near its borders and every place under Kou’s iron grip was no longer an option, even if Balbadd was free – he wouldn’t be crawling to the baby magi’s king, even if it would good to steal one of that brat’s kings for a change. 

But he felt different from when he was Kou’s Oracle, in a way much like when he was with Hakuryuu – he didn’t feel like he’s just a tool, he felt like a person. He could chalk it up to the king’s manipulative ways or his dazzling rukh, but that didn’t seem quite true – sure he was never good at reading people, not the way Aladdin could, but it was just a feeling he had.

In hindsight, he in a way had love Hakuryuu – a selfish, destructive love that fed off the worst in each other just as much as they cared and protected each other – the Magi suspected if it wasn’t for Alibaba and Aladdin, that the two would’ve perished because they were feeding off each other’s despair and rage and would’ve drowned utterly. They had needed each other, but they couldn’t do right by the other, not the way that they were. But Sinbad was… he had a fascination with him, it bordered on obsession - no, he was obsessed and wanted to either be carried off like some fairytale princess by some dashing rogue or to claim the man like he was some kind of pet or a toy, not caring what he had to say about the arrangement.

Yet even with their past, when he was found battered and washed up from his return trip – Sinbad had ordered him to be looked after and cared for as if their years of antagonism never happened. It was a strange feeling to have this man continue to try to help him despite it all. 

At first he thought he wanted a powerful king to war against the world with, to stain the Sindrian king in the black, and watch him go wild in his equips. But that war in Sindria, seeing his rukh starting to darken shook him from that. Sinbad didn’t lash out, he didn’t swear vengeance – he had shut down as if he somehow cut his heart away from the rest of the world, becoming little more than a lifeless doll. Parthevia could’ve won, but the sight had upset him so much that his focus disappeared, and he was frozen between putting him out of his misery or fleeing – but that knight saw them and he was forced to defend himself. Not he could blame that person – after all, he was a threat to Sinbad.

He didn’t know metal could conduct electricity so well – the smell of burnt hair, the way his body contorted before the knight just fell over with a clatter, smoke rising up from the joints of his armor. It was the first time he actually killed someone – least that he was aware of killing them. The sight had seemed to cause Sinbad to stir, but he was already fleeing, sick to his stomach, his vision clouded by tears – not that he remembered that part until that bratty magi revealed it along with all the other memories that Al-Thamen tried to hide from him. Judal thought he just never cared who lived or died (long as it wasn’t someone he actually _liked_ ), but it seemed those bastards made him that way. Not that it absolve him of anything, it just made him think he could’ve been a normal person – if they weren’t around. 

Did Sinbad not remember this? He was certain that knight was a friend, and he suppose given the state the stupid king was in, he probably didn’t even see it happening, just the aftermath. But the guy’s no idiot, he would’ve figured out who killed his friend. If someone had killed Hakuryuu or the Old Hag in front of him, he would’ve chased them to the ends of the earth and tortured them slowly until they screamed for the mercy of death, then he would’ve tortured them even more before he put them out of their misery. Could this man really have forgiven him for it? To trust him enough to let him near when he’s sleeping like a rock? 

He didn’t understand what the hell this idiot was thinking sometimes. 

“Judal…?” Sinbad murmurs sleepily as he turns over, the little birds starting to shake off their sleepy fluttering. 

“Go back to sleep, idiot.” The Magi caught himself saying the insult like it was something affectionate – he supposed it was. He tried to use actual pet names once, after overhearing that dragon and his wife (how did they even…? Judal chose not to dwell on that thought), but Sinbad literally put a hand over his mouth, and told him to stop using 'dear' or 'darling' because it didn’t sound like him at all. ‘I like it better when you address me naturally, even if it’s with a barbed tongue’, was what he said. 

“You keep kissing my throat,” The king protests in mid-yawn, curling up, his tiger-like eyes fluttering shut. 

That’s what you get for exposing your weak points, Judal thought with a snicker as the man starts to drift off again. Soon he rests his head on the older man’s bicep, not used to letting himself go so deep into his own thoughts. Maybe… he never needed a savior from Al-Thamen, or a King to conqueror with. 

He just needed a person, a human with all the strengths and flaws to hold their hand out to him.

And to get some fucking sleep before freckles throws them both out of bed in morning.


End file.
